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Parsha Perspectives: What is Truly Most Important? (Pinchas)

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“The Lord spoke to Moses, saying:  Pinchas the son of Eleazar the son of Aaron the kohen has turned My anger away from the children of Israel by his zealously avenging Me among them, so that I did not destroy the children of Israel because of My zeal. Therefore, say, ’I hereby give him My covenant of peace.’”  (Bamidbar 25:10-12)

“In a place where there is no man, try to be the man.” (Ethics of Our Fathers 2:6). Pinchas saw a terrible wrong being committed and decided to act. We had fallen into the abyss of immorality with the nation of Midyan, a terrible Chillul Hashem (Desecration of God’s name) was occurring and no one was taking a stand. Pinchas became the man and sprang into action. His actions were not motivated by anger or resentment; they were a manifestation of his love, care, and concern for his people. For his spiritual heroism, God rewarded him with the covenant of peace, bris shalom.

Pinchas was fortunate in that he was gifted the covenant of peace, as peace is often exceptionally elusive. We too must work to create this bris shalom for ourselves. It is during this period of the Three Weeks that we must try to right our historical wrongs. Our current 2,000+ year diaspora came about as a result of sinas chinam (unwarranted hatred). Our greatest threat has never been the Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, and Romans; our greatest threat is often ourselves. Our inability to love each other as we should is often at the root of many national issues.

Our Torah is filled with many beautiful and meaningful mitzvos (commandments). These mitzvos teach us how to create and sustain a relationship with God and with one another. Imagine for a moment if you were to be asked, which is the most important of all of God’s commandments? Which mitzvah do you think outweighs the rest? Perhaps, it is Shabbos or Bris Milah (circumcision) both of which are referred to as an Os (sign) between God and His nation. Perhaps, it is not any one particular mitzvah but a unit of mitzvos like the Aseres HaDibros (Ten Commandments) which are the spiritual centerpiece of our Torah. Long before you and I pondered this question, the great rabbinic sages were having this very discussion.

“You shall love your neighbor as you love yourself (Leviticus 19:18); Rabbi Akiva said, ’This is an important principle of the Torah.’ Ben Azai said, ’This is the narrative of the generations of man on the day that God created man, in the likeness of God He created him’ (Genesis 5:1), is even more important.” (Sifra, Kedoshim)

Rabbi Akiva and his disciple Ben Azai were trying to figure out what is the most important, core principle we have in our Torah. Rabbi Akiva explains that everything flows from loving the other. This is reminiscent of the story of the gentile who approached the great sage Hillel and said, “I want to convert on the condition that you (Hillel) teach me the entire Torah standing on one foot.”To which Hillel responded, “That which is despicable to you, do not visit upon the other.” Rabbi Akiva continues this tradition and explains that the mitzvah of V’Ahavta L’Reyacha Kamocha, (Love your fellow as you love yourself) is the most important tenet of our belief. If you cannot love another how can you love God? If you cannot love someone who you can see, touch and experience, how can you love that which is amorphous and beyond the scope of human comprehension? If you work to love your fellow Jew, you will come to love God.

Ben Azai, Rabbi Akiva’s trusted disciple disagreed with his rebbe (teacher). However, at first glance we do not understand Ben Azai’s statement. There is no mitzvah contained in the verse he quoted. This verse, from the fifth chapter of Bereishis (Genesis) begins a list of individual and generational lifespans beginning with Adam. What is the nature of Ben Azai’s disagreement with Rabbi Akiva? Rav Asher Weiss advances a beautiful insight. Ben Azai says, “My great teacher, Rabbi Akiva if only we could be as pure as you. It would be wonderful to think that we could love each other as we love ourselves. But this aspiration is fraught with so many challenges. There are people who have wronged me, and it is difficult for me to forgive, let alone love them. There are people who do bad things and who is to say they deserve my love. There are people who are simply not “loveable” as a result of their temperament and disposition. And therefore, I would like to suggest something else. There is something greater and more important than love – respect. We cannot love every other Jew, but we can learn to respect every Jew. “This is the narrative of the generations of man on the day that God created man, in the likeness of God He created him (Genesis 5:1).” Every Jew is made in the image of God and for that alone (s)he deserves my respect. To require us to love one another is a tall order, but to respect each other; this is attainable.”

Such a powerful lesson. Perhaps, it is not possible to love everyone , but I must work on my ability to respect the other. There is a societal trend to vilify anyone who does not share “my” views. This is true on an individual and national level. Even the most “open minded” of people often lack tolerance for opinions and views that may differ from their own. The Jewish people are comprised of multiple streams. I identify as a Torah Jew who tries (I admit that I must try harder) to adhere to the laws of the Torah as they have been handed down for thousands of years. I vehemently disagree with other interpretations of Judaism and am fiercely protective of my faith. I will not compromise in matters of Halacha (Jewish Law) and I will resist those who try to tell me that Judaism must consistently adapt or cater to contemporary sensitivities or various types of “isms.” Yet at the same time, I respect the right of my fellow Orthodox, Conservative and Reform brothers and sisters to have their views. Even within the big tent of Orthodox Judaism we have many different streams. I often find it difficult to figure out my place. Maybe it is because deep down I wish it were not this way. No matter what I agree or disagree with, I pledge to my fellow Jews that our dialogue will be with respect. This is the Ben Azai way.

It is true, at the end of the day decisions must be made, action must be taken, and someone’s opinion will not be accepted. But if we hear the other and validate the other in the course of a dialogical process, perhaps, we can emerge from the most difficult of discussions as brothers.

This past week we observed the fast of the 17th of Tammuz. It was on this day thousands of years ago that the walls of Jerusalem were breached. Three weeks later our beloved Beis HaMikdash (Temple) was set ablaze. So much of the hardship, so many of the heartbreaking difficulties were the result of infighting, factionalism, and indifference to the other. We do not have to agree, we just have to respect. We can do better; we can be better.

What is the most important mitzvah of the Torah? I am not sure – much greater men have pondered this question and the answer still seems far from reach. But here is what I do know: The path forward must be lined with love for our fellow Jew. But before we can love we must learn to respect. Some think that the way to demonstrate allegiance to one’s beliefs and ideologies is to disparage those who believe differently. If I can knock down your belief – then mine must be stronger. We can disagree. And if we feel there are problems and religious or intellectual inconsistencies within other approaches to Judaism we should vigorously discuss and debate. We need not compromise our beliefs and values we hold dear in order to make someone else feel happy, accepted, or validated. But we must respect the other no matter how deep the divide or disagreement. Why?  “…for in the likeness of God, He created him;” we are each a beautiful Tzelem Elokim (image of God). May we be privileged to see this Divine identity within ourselves and may we be courageous enough to see it within one another.

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Parsha Perspectives: Reading the Roadblocks (Chukas-Balak)

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“How many emperors and how many princes have lived and died and no record of them remains, and they only sought to gain dominions and riches in order that their fame might be ever-lasting.”

Leonardo Da Vinci

Bilam wanted his 15 minutes of fame. On a deeper level, he sought affirmation of his prophetic identity. He wanted to know he mattered. And so, after receiving the invitation of Balak, the king of Moav, to curse the Jewish people, Bilam gathered some possessions, loaded his donkey, and began the journey.

“In the morning Balaam arose, saddled his she-donkey and went with the Moabite dignitaries. God’s wrath flared because he was going, and an angel of the Lord stationed himself on the road to thwart him, and he was riding on his she-donkey, and his two servants were with him.” (Bamidbar 22:21-22)

Rashi comments:

to thwart him: It was an angel of mercy, and he wanted to prevent him from sinning, for should he sin, he would perish.

The Hebrew word the Torah uses for “thwart” is l’satan. This word conjures up many images. The Satan is often understood to refer to the prosecuting angel who highlights our shortcomings and faults before the heavenly tribunal. At other times, the Satan is a reference to the yetzer hara, the evil inclination which seeks to undermine our dynamic life growth. Yet Rashi explains that this angel, which came l’satan (to thwart), was an angel of mercy sent to try to prevent Bilam from making a terrible mistake.

It is in this simple statement that Rashi teaches us a profound life lesson about failure. There are times when, like Bilam, we set out to accomplish something great. We load the proverbial donkey and ready ourselves to move forward only to encounter a roadblock. These roadblocks occur often throughout the journey of life. At times they are barriers which prevent us from moving forward and at other times they actively derail and overturn us. We must always remember that the roadblocks are merciful. God puts roadblocks in front of us for two primary reasons. Sometimes the roadblocks tell us that we are headed down the wrong path. This is not the proper road.. We need new direction, a new destination. Many times, we think we know where we are supposed to go, but we are wrong. The destination we think we need to get to is not the right one,either for right now or perhaps forever. The roadblock tells us to turn around, choose a new destination and try again.  Yet, sometimes the roadblock is there to make us work harder. The roadblock tells us to find an alternate route, a detour; the destination is correct but will be so much more impactful and meaningful if we put in the additional effort to reach it. The roadblock is there to test our resolve. How badly do we want to get to our individual intended destinations? How far are we each willing to travel? How hard are we willing to work? The roadblock does not tell us to turn around just to try harder.

It was an angel of mercy who tried to tell Bilam to turn around. He was headed down the wrong path; a path which would ultimately lead to his demise. It is this same angel of mercy who often stands in our way as well. At times he tells us to turn around and find another path and at times he smiles as he directs us onto the shoulder or towards a detour and gently encourages us to try harder and travel wiser.

May God grant us the wisdom and understanding to know when to take the detour and when to turn around.

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Parsha Perspectives: Korach-Understanding the Other

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“They assembled against Moses and Aaron, and said to them, ‘You take too much upon yourselves, for the entire congregation are all holy, and the Lord is in their midst. So why do you raise yourselves above the Lord’s assembly?’ Moses heard and fell on his face. He spoke to Korach and to all his company, saying, ’In the morning, the Lord will make known who is His, and who is holy, and He will draw [them] near to Him, and the one He chooses, He will draw near to Him. Do this, Korach and his company: Take for yourselves censers. Place fire into them and put incense upon them before the Lord tomorrow, and the man whom the Lord chooses he is the holy one; you have taken too much upon yourselves, sons of Levi.’” (Bamidbar Chapter 16:3-7)

It was another tragic episode. As the nation was still recovering from the sin of the spies, a rebellion against Moshe and Aharon was brewing. Korach, a close cousin of Moshe’s, accused him of nepotism and abuse of power. Moshe was so overwhelmed that at first, he could not even find the words to respond; he simply fell down to the ground, sapped of his strength and vigor. Korach told Moshe and Aharon, “Rav lachem (you have taken too much for yourselves). Interestingly enough, a few verses later Moshe uses the same wording telling Korach and his followers, “Rav lachem bnai Levi, (you have much the sons of Levi.)” It appears like a verbal duel. Korach told Moshe, ”You have too much power and influence” and Moshe responded to Korach, “You already have much responsibility and standing.”

The Gemara (Sotah 13b) states:

“And the Lord said to me: Let it suffice for you [rav lakh]; speak no more to Me of this matter” (Deuteronomy 3:26). Rabbi Levi says: Moses proclaimed to the Jewish people when rebuking them with the term “rav,” and therefore it was proclaimed to him with the term “rav” that he would not enter Eretz Yisrael. The Gemara explains: He proclaimed with the term “rav” when speaking with the congregation of Korach: “You take too much upon you [rav lachem], you sons of Levi” (Numbers 16:7), and it was proclaimed to him with the term “rav,” as God denied his request and said: “Let it suffice for you [rav lakh].”

The Gemara refers to the episode at the end of Moshe’s life when Moshe beseeched God for the ability to enter the Land of Israel. God told Moshe, “You told Korach, rav lach (you have enough); I am telling you, rav lach (you have enough).” What does this mean? Did Moshe handle Korach inappropriately? Moshe was the victim not the aggressor.

The great Chassidic master, Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev explains that God was telling Moshe that although Korach was wrong in his approach, his aspiration was noble. Korach wanted more out of life, he wanted to accomplish and be more. Unfortunately, he went about it all wrong. What could have been a noble quest for enhanced holiness became a self-serving, ego-driven journey for honor. Moshe said to Korach, “Rav lach, you have a lot, you are great, you have accomplished so much – stop this foolishness.” Fast forward a few years when Moshe begged God to allow him entry to the promised land. God responded to Moshe, “Rav lach, you have so much. Why do you need to go into the Land of Israel? You have accomplished much! You faced down Pharaoh, you brought down the man, you vanquished some of the mightiest kings of Canaan – it’s enough!” But of course, for Moshe it was not.  Moshe begged and beseeched for more – but it was not to be.

Korach was wrong in every way. Yet in certain respects his motivation was pure. He wanted something more for and from himself. His approach was wrong, inappropriate, and disastrous, but on some level his heart was in the right place. This is an important lesson in how we deal with other people. There are times in life when people do and say things which are upsetting and offensive. It is important to take a step back and try to understand where the other is coming from. There is no justification for inappropriate, hurtful behavior. But when trying to deescalate conflict and repair a relationship, it is helpful to try to understand where the other is coming from.

The tragedy of Korach lies in the fact that he truly desired elevated and amplified holiness, he just went about things in the wrong way. When dealing with difficult people it can be helpful to take a step back and try to understand the root and cause of the inappropriate behavior. Harmful behavior towards another is never justifiable but when looking to mend relationships it can be instructive and helpful to strive to understand the motivations of the other.

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Parsha Perspectives: Shlach-Small Steps, Long Journey

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What began as a simple reconnaissance mission descended into a slander campaign against the Land of Israel, Moshe and ultimately, God Himself. The Meraglim (spies) were upstanding men, leaders of their respective families and tribes and yet profoundly misunderstood what they saw in the Land of Israel. They managed to convince the people that entering and conquering the very land promised to Avraham Avinu had now become impossible. They convinced the Jewish nation that it had all just been smoke and mirrors, that they had been betrayed by Moshe. The Divine response was quick and decisive. The spies died in a plague and the nation was condemned to roam the desert for the next four decades. The generation which left Egypt would not enter the Land of Israel. Instead they would perish over the next forty years, leaving their children to conquer and inherit the land.

At the end of this dramatic parsha God gives us the mitzvah of Tzitzis:

“The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the children of Israel and you shall say to them that they shall make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments, throughout their generations, and they shall affix a thread of sky blue [wool] on the fringe of each corner. This shall be fringes for you, and when you see it, you will remember all the commandments of the Lord to perform them, and you shall not wander after your hearts and after your eyes after which you are going astray. So that you shall remember and perform all My commandments and you shall be holy to your God. I am the Lord, your God, Who took you out of the land of Egypt to be your God; I am the Lord, your God.” (Bamidbar 15:37-41)

Every mitzvah is important but why is this particular mitzvah given now? Does the placement of this mitzvah somehow correlate to the sin of the spies? Is there some deeper message which God is conveying to us?

The biblical mitzvah of Tzitzis requires that one of the strings be dyed with techeiles (blue dye). The Gemara explains:

Rabbi Meir said:  Why is Techeiles different from all other colors (i.e. why did the Torah command us to dye the string of the Tzitzis blue instead of some other color)? Because, Techeiles resembles the sea, the sea resembles the sky and the sky resembles the Throne of God.” (Menachos 43b)

The light blue color the Tzitzis reminds us of our all-important mission – the need to establish a relationship with God. We have many responsibilities during our time in this world and a meaningful relationship with God allows us to accomplish and grow. The blue string reminds us that spirituality is a “step-process.” One cannot immediately go from Earth to the Throne of God. There is a progression, there is a process. First you think of the sea, then to the heavens and ultimately, God Himself. Spiritual accomplishment is like climbing a ladder; if you try to get to the top in one step, you will fall. Meaningful spiritual accomplishment must be advanced through a series of small, concrete, and sustainable steps.

Yet, we find something interesting in regard to this mitzvah. It is not obligatory. One is only obligated in Tzitzis if one has a four-cornered garment. If one never possesses such a garment one could go through an entire lifetime never fulfilling this mitzvah (contemporarily we go out of our way to obligate ourselves in this mitzvah by wearing a four-cornered garment). But if this mitzvah (and its message) is indeed so important then why is it not obligatory?

Rav Moshe Feinstein zt’l explains that God decides many things. He decides if I will be tall or short, rich, or poor, wise, or foolish. But God does not decide the quality of my character, who I become and what I want from life. I must decide about what I want to accomplish, who I want to be and what contribution I want to make to this world. The mitzvah of tzitzis reminds me of my capacity to grow, to be great and accomplish incredible things. But only I can activate these abilities. God can command me to do many things. He can command me to keep Shabbos and the laws of Kashrus. He can command me to be honest and charitable. But He cannot command me to grow as an individual – this is a choice I must make. God cannot command me to be as vast as the sea, as luminescent as the heavens or to grab hold of His Throne. Only I can choose this for myself. Thus, the Torah makes the mitzvah of tzitzis and its accompanying Techeiles optional, something you must actively choose to do rather than one that is automatically required.

What happened to the spies? How did they commit this terrible sin? Because they lost their way. Somehow, they forgot about what “they wanted out of life.” They forgot that from the inception of our peoplehood, when God first communicated with Avraham, the goal was to bring us to our Land. They became so overwhelmed that they forgot to look beyond their immediate circumstances to the beautiful sea, heavens and Throne that awaited them. When the spies saw the “problems” in the Land they had a decision to make. Should we fall prey to small mindedness and throw our hands up in defeat? Or should we choose something bigger, better, and holier for ourselves? Unfortunately, they made the wrong the decision and we still feel the impact to this very day. God gave us the mitzvah of tzitzis in the immediate aftermath of the sin of spies with the hope that its beautiful message would inspire us to be better in the future.

 God controls many things – but the one thing He places in our hands is the decision between greatness and mediocrity. The blue strand of tzitzis reminds us that through small, determined, and consistent steps we can find our inner greatness, overcome our challenges, and build a beautiful relationship with our Father above.

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Parsha Perspectives: Behaaloscha-Luminescent Light

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“The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to Aaron and say to him: ‘When you light the lamps, the seven lamps shall cast their light toward the face of the menorah.’” (Bamidbar 8:1-2)

It is difficult to feel left out. Aharon saw the beautiful offerings of the Nesiim, Tribal Princes and was disappointed that neither he nor his tribe were included. It is in this moment of sadness that God tells Aharon, “Do not despair; your lot is greater than theirs for I have given you (and your descendants) the mitzvah to kindle the Menorah.” (Rashi 8:2). God was trying to soothe Aharon’s sadness – but why the Menorah? Why did this responsibility mend his broken heart? After all, Aharon as High Priest had many unique responsibilities. He brought the incense (kitores), he sacrificed the communal offerings and he was the only man allowed into the Holy of Holies (on Yom Kippur). What was the unique message and meaning of the Menorah that lifted Aharon’s spirits?

The Midrash (Midrash Rabbah 15:8) provides a beautiful insight:

“There was a great king who often travelled to the small hamlets of his kingdom to meet his subjects. One of these journeys brought him to the town of his closest childhood friend. The king sent a message to his friend requesting if he could join him in his home for a meal. The friend, a common farmer was excited for the great honor of hosting the king and began the frenetic preparations. The much-anticipated day arrived, and the simple farmer had set the table with his finest dishes, and flatware. There were main dishes, side dishes and delicious deserts. The farmer looked at the table and was eager to greet the king. The trumpets sounded and the royal coach arrived. As the door of the carriage opened, the trumpets blasted again, and a small army of attendants and servants entered the home of the farmer. The servants were dressed in the finest clothing and were carrying golden torches to light the way for their beloved king. Upon seeing all the pomp and wealth the farmer became embarrassed of his meager possessions. The table that a few minutes earlier had looked so beautiful and regal now looked so simple and quaint. The farmer began to feel inadequate and unprepared. ‘How can I serve the king on my simple dishes? How can I feed him my “commoner” food?’ The farmer began to clear the table, quickly putting everything away before the king entered the home. Just as he finished the king entered. ‘Didn’t you remember I was to join you for a meal?’ The king asked as he looked at the empty table. ‘Of course, your majesty, but as I saw the great display of wealth, I thought it would be more fitting if we would dine on your dishes and have your cooks prepare the meal.’ ‘My dear friend, the king remarked, I am here because I want to dine with you, in your home, at your table with your food. I knew that whatever you would prepare would be with love and attention. While travelling to your home I began to feel closer to you because I knew how much effort you were expending to prepare for our short time together. We will not use my dishes, nor will my cooks prepare my favorite dishes, tonight I choose to dine with you, eat your food and reside in your home.’

And so, it was with God.  God created the luminaries, He forged the sun, the moon and stars and yet, He asked Aharon (and his descendants) to prepare the light, to kindle the Menorah and to illuminate His home.”

The message is powerful. Rachmana Liba Ba’Ey (God desires heart). Aharon, felt left out because he did not get to participate in the grand dedication. God explains, “I don’t need grandeur, just sincerity and consistency. Aharon, when you light the Menorah each and every day, I know that you will do it with a heart filled with love and dedication. I know you will kindle each lamp with the fire of sincerity and purity. I do not need your light; I want your light. I have the sun, the moon, and the stars, but when you kindle those little flames, they illuminate the entire celestial sphere. Your gift of light is the most precious gift I can receive.”

The gifts of the tribal princes were beautiful and precious, but they are not representative of what God wants and expects of us on a daily basis. God wants us to kindle our Menorah. Do something which produces light in the world, even if it is just a small little flame. God does not demand spiritually heroic activity from us, He just asks for activity. But there is something else. Make sure to produce light each and every day. The Menorah was kindled daily. This is the message of consistency. The tribal princes brought their offerings once; God wants us to create consistent light.

The Midrashic king only visited his childhood friend once. Our King looks to be with us each and every day. The words which comforted Aharon can provide us with the strength to move forward in life. We each have moments when we are like the Tribal Princes. Moments, when we do spiritually dramatic things, moments of sacrifice and selflessness and spiritual heroism. But these are just moments. More important is to be like Aharon, kindle our Menorah of personal growth every day. We do not have to create a raging fire of accomplishment, just a small spark of goodness and holiness. We do not have to illuminate the entire world, just our own souls. We do not have to be perfect, but we must ascend and kindle each and every day.

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Parsha Perspectives: Naso-Get Back Up

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“If someone in his presence dies unexpectedly or suddenly, and causes the nazirite head to become defiled, he shall shave off [the hair of] his head on the day of his purification; on the seventh day, he shall shave it off. And on the eighth day, he shall bring two turtledoves or two young pigeons to the kohen, at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting.The kohen shall prepare one for a sin offering and one for a burnt offering and atone on his behalf for sinning by coming into contact with the dead, and he shall sanctify his head on that day. He shall consecrate to the Lord the period of his abstinence and bring a lamb in its first year as a guilt offering; the previous days shall be canceled because his naziriteship has been defiled.” (Bamidbar 6:9-12)

In this week’s Parsha we are introduced to the Nazir. This individual vowed to abstain from wine, cutting his hair or coming in contact with the dead. But why?  Aren’t there enough biblically (and rabbinically) mandated prohibitions? The Beis Yisroel (Rabbi Yisroel Alter of Gur, 1895-1977) explains that the Torah is conveying to us a deeper message. The Nazir represents a person looking for more out of life. He realizes that he is not living the life he should be living; he is not becoming the person he is capable of being. So, he decides to make dramatic life change. He withdraws to a degree from the world around him in order to create a new world of personalistic holiness. Sometimes, you have to bring life to a grinding halt in an effort to recalibrate and plot a new course for the future. The Nazir found the strength and adopted a new approach (for a limited amount of time). But then he fails. He finds himself in proximity to a corpse and everything ends; he must start all over again. His vow ends in failure. He is tamei (impure) and back to square one. It is in this very moment that God teaches us how to deal with failure.  “V’kidash es rosho ba’yom ha’hu, (and he shall sanctify his head on that day)” on the day he finishes his purification process, he gets back up and starts all over again. There is no time for lamenting, there is only time to get up, dust off and begin anew. As King Solomon wrote in Proverbs, “For a righteous man can fall seven times and rise, but the wicked shall stumble upon evi.”l (24:16) Everyone stumbles and falls, the righteous get back up, the wicked stay down.

But there is one more piece. The above-mentioned section ends, “… the previous days shall fall away (be cancelled).” In order to have a meaningful second chance and new beginning, one must let go of the feelings of pain and failure of the past. In the aftermath of failure, we tend to think, “I wasted so much time and resources on this initiative, idea, mission which never materialized.” A person could feel demoralized in the aftermath of failure and that prolonged feeling could prevent a person from trying again and believing that things can be different in the future. Sometimes, you just have to let go in order to move on.

The message of the Nazir is a message for us all. We all fail, and we all fall; this is an inevitable reality of the human condition. What is our response to life failure? Get back up and try again. Clean up your wounds, let go of the past and make another go at it. We may not identify with the restrictions of the Nazir, but his quest for holiness and elevation inspires us all.

This week we failed. Our society failed; our nation failed. We witnessed with shock and horror the death of George Floyd. I did not know Mr. Floyd, the kind of man he was or the life he led. What I do know is that no human being should die under the knee of another. No citizen of this great country should be treated with callous, indifferent, and brutal behavior. The officers responsible for this heinous act should answer for this crime and we must use this as an opportunity for reflection and introspection. But how do we use this tragic and traumatic episode to grow? The first thing we must acknowledge is that racism exists within our society. We like to think it is a thing of the past but many within the African American community must live with this bitter reality each and every day. We must be conscious of how we speak and how we act towards every human being. There are many forms of hatred which plague our nation.  Anti-Semitism is on the rise and how tragic it is that the death of an African American man becomes an opportunity to some to target Synagogues and Jewish businesses. Sometimes it feels like everyone hates someone. Some people hate Blacks, others hate Whites. Some people hate Jews, others hate Asians. Some hate gays, democrats hate republicans (and vice-versa) and some just hate everyone who is not like them. But we must remember that the answer to racism and hatred cannot be more hatred. We have to figure out a way to address the ills of society without ripping each other apart even more. Do policing practices need to be re-examined and overhauled? Every system which impacts others and greater society must be constantly evaluated and reevaluated. But I know that there are many men and women across this great nation who don the police officer’s uniform and put themselves in harm’s way for you and me. They are willing to put their lives in peril to protect people they do not even know. Are there bad apples? Or course. Just like there are bad apples in religious and political leadership. There will always be those who exploit power and authority to hurt, suppress and persecute others. There will always be those who will use their pedestal to trample on others and abuse those whom they are charged to protect. And so, when we hear of 3 police officers in New York being stabbed and shot does that advance anyone’s cause? Don’t they have families? Don’t they have parents? And when we hear of innocent people losing their lives in the violence of the protests – is this a justifiable sacrifice? Is the response to George Floyd’s tragic death, more tragic, unnecessary death? I believe that we must try to move beyond #BlackLivesMatter, #WhiteLivesMatter and #BlueLivesMatter. All life is important, Black life, White life, and every shade in between. Unborn life, adolescent life, and elderly life matters. We must become a society of #AllLivesMatter.

I know it is easy to write words. Honestly, I do not even know where to start. Perhaps, someone will read these words and will have an idea as to how we can begin to make peace. I would welcome the opportunity to work with members of every community, elected officials, and police to make a better community and a better life for us all.

As a Jew, I am tired of being hated. As a human being, I am tired of seeing racism and living in a world which feels so steeped in hate. I am ready to work with other communal partners and help to start make a difference.

We have failed but like the Nazir, it is time to get back up, dust ourselves off and try again.

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Shavuos-Spirituality Transcends Geography  

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“They journeyed from Rephidim, and they arrived in the desert of Sinai, and they encamped in the desert, and Israel encamped there opposite the mountain.” (Exodus 19:2)

The much awaited and anticipated event unfolds in this week’s Parsha. After 210 years of servitude, the Children of Israel stood at the base of Mount Sinai, ready and willing to receive the Torah. But this was not just another event – this was to be the most important, seminal event of our national existence. God Himself would speak to the people. This direct dialogical connection would serve as the foundation for the ongoing relationship between God and His chosen nation. So important was this event of Sinaitic Revelation that every Jewish soul, past, present, and future, was present. Each and every one of us was there. Each of us said the words, “Naaseh v’nishma (we will do and we will listen).” Each of us accepted God and pledged ourselves to the destiny of the Jewish people.

And yet, despite the importance of this event, it happened in the middle of nowhere. The location of the greatest revelation has disappeared into the sands of time. Why not give the Torah in the Land of Israel? Perhaps on Har HaMoriah, the site of Akeydas Yitzchak (Binding of Isaac), the future site of the Beis HaMikdash (Temple)? An event of such magnitude should have occurred in a place of great holiness and importance. Why did God choose to give us the Torah in the middle of the desert?

Rav Kalonymus Kalman Shapira (1889–1943), Grand Rabbi of Piacezna, Poland, who authored a number of works and was murdered by the Nazis during the Holocaust, was a beacon of light for so many who were shackled in the darkness of the Warsaw Ghetto. Each and every Shabbos (when conditions allowed) the Rebbe would gather his minyan of the broken hearted and would fill their souls with fiery and uplifting words of Torah. In a place where there was not enough to feed the body, he made sure to help sustain the souls of his brothers and sisters. The Rebbe was murdered by the Nazi beasts, but his drashos live on in his sefer titled, Eish Kodesh. The Rebbe answers the aforementioned question in a magnificent and riveting fashion. As part of the daily Shema, we recite the phrase, “V’Ahavta es Hashem Elokecha b’chol levavicha (You shall love Hashem, your God, with all of your heart).” Rashi explains: “What does it mean to love God with all of your heart? Shelo Yihey libcha chaluk al hamakom (Your heart shall not be divided against God).”  Rashi highlights an important dynamic. It is easy to love God when things are good. It is easy to feel a connection when God gives you what you want and life is going your way. But what happens when I am faced with challenge? What happens when I encounter adversity? How do I feel about God when life is not going according to plan? The Torah commands us to love God with all of our heart. No matter what is happening in life – I need to find a way to love my God. No matter if things are good or if they are difficult – I give my heart to Hashem. Shelo Yihey libcha chaluk al hamakom (Your heart shall not be divided against God) – my whole heart is devoted to loving Hashem no matter what my personal circumstances may be. Pause for a moment and reflect that the Rebbe was sharing these words, on Shabbos, January 7, 1940, in the Warsaw Ghetto. His congregation was comprised of broken souls who had lost so much and yet the Rebbe was telling them about the need to still love God. This is a level of emunah (faith) and connection that we can barely understand.

Rav Shapira takes this idea from Rashi a step further. He explains these words in a different way; “Shelo Yihey libcha chaluk al hamakom – Don’t let your heart deceive you and tell you that God and spirituality are tethered to any one place.”  People often think that God’s presence can only be found in certain places and among certain people. This is incorrect. God is everywhere and can be experienced anywhere. As the great Chassidic master Rav Menachem Mendel of Kotzk said, “People often ask, ‘Where can God be found?’ To which I often reply, ‘Anywhere you let Him in’.”  There is no question that God’s presence can be felt more acutely in some places than others. The Land of Israel is blessed with an intensity of Divine spirit that cannot be experienced or replicated in other locations; but our relationship with God and our ability to acquire and nourish our personal and collective spirituality is not tethered to any geographic location. Thus, explains the Rebbe, is why God decided to give the Torah in the middle of nowhere. Had God given us the Torah in Israel, the Jewish nation may have erroneously thought that Torah can only be experienced in the holy cocoon of our national homeland. Therefore, God gives us the Torah in the middle of a non-descript desert landscape to teach us an all-important lesson. Wherever you are – I am with you. Wherever you are – You can always connect with me. Your spirituality transcends geography and cannot be contained or limited to specific locations. God gives us the Torah in the middle of nowhere to teach us that we can connect with Him – everywhere.

This message resonates with incredible contemporary relevance. “Makom” need not only refer to a geographic location – it can also refer to a situational space. There are times in life that our geographic reality is challenging. There are times in life when our life situation is less than optimal. It is important that we remind ourselves that God is accessible to us wherever we are. At times, as a result of my challenges and difficulties, I feel all alone in the desert of life. In those difficult times, I may even feel distanced from God. The Torah was given in the desert – the Torah can still be found in the desert. Wherever we find ourselves geographically and emotionally, we have the opportunity and ability to connect. No matter what the landscape of our lives may be – we have the ability to forge a meaningful and enduring relationship with the Divine.

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Parsha Perspectives: Bamidbar-Two Steps Back, Three Steps Forward  

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“The Lord spoke to Moses saying: Only the tribe of Levi you shall not number, and you shall not reckon their sum among the children of Israel. But you shall appoint the Levites over the Tabernacle of the Testimony, over all its vessels and over all that belong to it; they shall carry the Tabernacle and they shall minister to it, and they shall encamp around the Tabernacle. When the Tabernacle is set to travel, the Levites shall dismantle it; and when the Tabernacle camps, the Levites shall erect it; any outsider [non-Levite] who approaches shall be put to death.” (Bamidbar 1:48-51)

Every tribe, every Jew, every man, woman, and child, is important in the eyes of God. We each have a unique mission and destiny. We each have different roles and responsibilities. The Tribe of Levi was chosen by God to serve in the Mishkan (and later in the Beis Mikdash) and dedicate their lives to the service of God and the Jewish people. During the 40-year sojourn in the desert, the Tribe of Levi had an additional role, to carry the Mishkan from location to location. The Baal Shem Tov comments that when the Torah describes the role of the Leviim it says, “U’vinsoa ha’mishkan yoridu oso (When you travel, they shall dismantle it).” The primary role of Levi was to show the people how to take down and deconstruct. Throughout life we spend time and energy building a life edifice and framework. Then, one day, we look at it and realize that it is not as it should be. I am not living the way I need to be living. I am not the kind of person I know I can and should be. But I have invested so much time and resources into “building” this life. I am too scared and unsure to knock it down and start again. Sometimes, “When the Tabernacle is set to travel,” when you know you need to make changes and start living the life you should be living, “the Levites shall dismantle it,” you must find the courage to knock down what you have built and start again.

King Solomon writes: “There is a time for all things…A time to give birth and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot that which is planted.” (Koheles 3:2) The wise King Solomon does not say, “there is a time to plant and a time to harvest.” Instead, he tells us that there is a time to “uproot.” There are times in life when we must uproot what we have planted because it is no longer the right fit. It may have seemed appropriate when it was first planted and the endeavor began, but we change, the world changes, and sometimes the very things which once were acceptable and good, must be deconstructed and uprooted.

It is then after we dismantle, like the tribe of Levi, we must also rebuild. Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook zt’l wrote:

“יש עבודת ה’ מיוחדת, לקחת דברים מפורקים ולבנות אותם.  כל דבר מפורק בהתחלה היה שלם.  נעים לראות דבר שלם, אבל יש עבודה מיוחדת לקחת את המפורק ולהחזירו לשלמותו.”

There is a special form of Avodas Hashem (service of God), to take things which are in pieces and make them whole.  Everything which is broken was initially whole. It is beautiful to see something which is complete and whole, but there is a unique privilege in taking that which is in pieces and returning it to completion.

We are just a few days away from the Yom Tov of Shavuos, the day on which we celebrate the great miracle of Sinaitic revelation. But we are not merely observing a historical event. Shavuos offers us the opportunity to reaccept and reaffirm our commitment to our Torah. Shavuos offers us the opportunity to start again. If we are broken, Shavuos gives us the strength to rebuild. If we are blemished, Shavuos gives us the chance the heal. If we need to make changes, Shavuos gives us the strength to start changing. But starting again, healing and changing are exceptionally difficult because often they require us to knock down certain life structures.

At times, the life or personality I have built does not provide the proper framework for who I really want to be.  There are things in my life that I must deconstruct, emotional or personalistic structures, I must raze because they are getting in the way of growth. Let us find the strength of Levi to take down the personalistic Mishkan of today in order to build the beautiful Mishkan of tomorrow.

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Parsha Perspectives: Behar Bechukosai-Timeless Value

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“And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Speak to the children of Israel and say to them: When a man expresses a vow, [pledging the] value of lives to the Lord…” (Vayikra 26:1-2)

The Book of Vayikra ends with a discussion of erech (valuation) vows. A person has the ability to pledge their “value” to the Temple. The Torah provides a framework based on age and gender, irrespective of a person’s abilities, profession or skill set.

Yet, we find a fascinating detail.  The verse states:

“The [fixed] value of a male shall be as follows: From twenty years old until sixty years old, the value is fifty silver shekels, according to the holy shekel…And if [the person is] sixty years old or over, if it is a male, the value shall be fifteen shekel …” (Vayikra 26:3,7)

Why this significant shift in value?  A man above the age of 60 loses closes to 2/3 of the value he possessed between the ages of 20-60. How are we to understand this change?

The Imrei Emes (Rabbi Avraham Mordechai Alter, Rebbe of the Hasidic dynasty of Ger, 1866-1948) explains this dynamic. Every person has an intrinsic value. We each have a worth. Even if we make mistakes, bad decisions, fall and fail; we possess holiness and godliness within. This is the deeper meaning of erech vows. From the time a baby is 30 days old until one draws his last breath, (s)he has value. But our innate value is directly related to our ability to change. The power of change is the greatest gift God has given us. No matter what I have or haven’t done – I can become someone better and holier. Change is always possible, no matter when, no matter where. However, the reality is that the older we get, the more set in our ways we become, and the more difficult change becomes. As we get older change is still possible, it just may not be probable. My “value” is fundamentally linked to my ability to change. Therefore, the individual between 20-60 has the highest value. With them, the ability and probability of change is highest. During this period of life, we are still seeking out identity, perhaps not fully sure of who we are. Once the individual is over 60, the ability for change is still present but the danger of becoming set in one’s ways is a bit more pronounced and as such the erech value of such individual decreases.

In this last lesson of Sefer Vayikra God conveys to us, His beloved children, that we each have value. Too often we assume that our mistakes and missteps deprive us of worth, yet there is nothing further from the truth. We each have incredible value until we draw our last breath.  The way to actualize and amplify our personal worth is to tap into the gift of change. The more we are willing to change, the more value our life has.

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Parsha Perspectives: Emor-Free But Priceless

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From the time we are young children we count down to exciting life events. We count the days until a birthday and the end of school. As we get older, we continue to count down. We count the days until graduation, a wedding, a much-needed vacation or other life milestones. In this week’s Parsha, God commanded us to count the days from Pesach leading up to Shavuos, when we would receive the Torah at Mount Sinai.

“And you shall count for yourselves, from the morrow of the rest day, from the day you bring the omer as a wave offering seven weeks; they shall be complete. You shall count until the day after the seventh week, [namely,] the fiftieth day, [on which] you shall bring a new meal offering to the Lord.” (Vayikra 23:15-16)

But why the need to count? How does counting imbue these days with any additional holiness? On a basic level, we are taught that our exodus was not an ends; it was a means to receive the Torah. We were not taken out of Egypt simply to be free and without a human master. We were emancipated because we had (and have) something to contribute. Our nation has the ability to be a light unto the nations. But in order for the light to burn and illuminate – there must be fuel. The Torah is our fuel, the commandments the oil for our national wick, allowing us to burn bright and dispel the darkness. We count the days from Pesach to Shavuos to remind ourselves that our freedom must be used for spiritual accomplishment. We count the days of Omer to remind ourselves of our national mandate to make this world a better place.

There is something very interesting about the verbiage used in the verse quoted above. The Torah does not simply tell us “to count,” rather, God instructs us, “And you shall count for yourselves- u’sfartem lachem.”  What is the meaning of this phrase “lachem (for you)?”

It is intriguing that a number of our initial commandments and mitzvos share a common theme – time. The first national mitzvah was Kiddush HaChodesh (sanctification of the new moon). God told Moshe, “HaChodesh HaZeh lachem Rosh Chodashim (this month is for you the first of all months).” (Shemos 12:2) Again, we see this same word “lachem(for you).”  Two of our initial commandments – both focused on time. Perhaps, God was trying to convey to us an all-important lesson for meaningful living. Kiddush HaChodesh (sanctification of the new month) reminds us that we control our months and Sefiras HaOmer (the counting of the days between Pesach and Shavuos) reminds us that we control our days and our weeks. We control our time.

Time humbles all men. Influence, power and connections can get you many things. But the one thing that no amount of “protexia” can procure and acquire for you – is time. Time is a finite, non-renewable resource. No matter how much you yearn for more – you simply can’t create it. Although we can’t generate additional quantities of time – we can most definitely control the time we have been given. Time is the greatest treasure God bestowed upon us as a free nation. It is the currency of accomplishment and self-advancement. Without it, you cannot do anything, go anywhere; with it, the sky is the limit. People often say, “if only I had more time – there are so many things I would like to do.” These mitzvos remind us that we have complete autonomy over how we use our time. It is true – there may not be enough time to accomplish everything you want to accomplish – so choose carefully. Decide what is important and focus your energies. We are limited in the duration of our time in this world but have sole discretion as to how to use the time we are given. Time is the start-up capital for our greatest initiative – life. Invest it wisely.

Perhaps, this is why the Torah uses the word “lachem (for you)” by both of the aforementioned commandments.  God is not simply telling us to count. He is instructing us to “make it count for ourselves.” The month is yours – decide what you are going to accomplish. The week is yours – decide what needs to get done. The day is yours – contemplate how to maximize and squeeze precious meaning and productivity from every holy moment.

Not a week goes by without a new “time saving device” being introduced in the technological marketplace.  We are constantly connected, wired and plugged in. Ostensibly the goal of our devices is to maximize productivity and “save time.” But have we really saved any time? And even if we have, how do we use this newfound time-windfall?  The reality is that for many of us the time saved is just used for more work. The additional time has not gone to our family, to our learning or to acts of chessed; it has gone to more emails, more meetings and more deals. For others, this additional time has led to more time spent online wandering the internet, posting every last bit of information (much of it too personal for public consumption) on Twitter or Facebook, or chas v’shalom losing one’s self in inappropriate sites and material. As William Penn wrote, “Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.”  Our time on this earth belongs to each of us. My hours and minutes belong to me and it is up to me to use them purposefully.

As we count the days until Shavuos, let us find the courage and strength to maximize our time and take advantage of each moment.

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